I was leading the service at church Sunday night.
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We were deep in the throes of a spiritual fight.
The preacher was gone, emotions ran high.
My first thought was no, but I knew I must try.
When it came time to pray, I wasn’t prepared.
I was feeling the pressure as everyone stared.
I was searching my mind for guiding direction,
when my wondering eyes made a connection.
He was a principled man who never said much.
Most knew him for his compassionate touch.
Before I could weigh all the risks it involved,
I asked him to pray, my problem was solved.
He reluctantly agreed with a nervous smile.
Then started in, “God…” and paused for a while.
He struggled intently for words to compose.
As each moment passed, the room-tension rose.
A silent prayer, not what I had in my mind.
But we all had one going for words he could find.
A long awkward silence, I’d counted to ten,
when he finally yelled, "Help!" then a quiet, "Amen."
We all burst out laughing. He beamed ear to ear.
Some walls began crumbling if you listened to hear.
With one magical word, so masterfully spoken,
our healing had started from promises broken.
This spirit-filled man, I had put on the spot,
patiently waited for the answer he sought.
With hope now replacing any thoughts of despair,
I thanked him for praying the perfect prayer.
Kevin Pace, wordsdomatter